


Cut My Heart Out With Broken Glass

by noveltea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noveltea/pseuds/noveltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a bad mission, all Dana wants to do is forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut My Heart Out With Broken Glass

It was after 11, and she was one drink away from being drunk and she couldn't have cared less. They'd had a shit of week, and she was angry and pissed off and she wanted nothing more than to forget everything that had happened.

And everything that would happen when she woke up from her blissfully self-imposed stupor.

She hated when a job involved kids.

* * *

She waited an hour for the pool table to be free, and by then Sam had lost interest in a game.

Not that it mattered; there wasn't a shortage of guys willing to prove just how manly they were by playing tough.

The girl sitting at the corner table had been watching her since she'd walked in. Normally Dana would have made the first move, but she was still riled up, and not drunk enough, to be polite. Instead she threw the brunette a _look_, and then nodded her head to the table.

What the hell, she could tolerate a partner if she got something else in return.

A chance to forget.

* * *

She leaned over the bar top, smiling and flirting with the twenty-something bartender. He was cute, and charming, in that southern-boy kind of way. It was a shame she already had her mark for the evening – although she was half-tempted to invite him to join in.

She licks her lips and takes the drinks only.

Isobel had been crap at pool, but she was easy on the eyes, and her poor performance had given Dana an excuse to touch her in public. Sam teased her about being an exhibitionist. The fuck if she was going to deny it.

Down the other end of the bar, Sam caught her gaze and rolled his eyes.

She flipped him the bird, and sauntered over. Leaning in close as she passed by, she whispered, "Don't wait up, Sammy," with a smirk.

* * *

Isobel wasn't from town, but Dana doesn't mention that she isn't local either.

She never gives anything away for free.

She listens to Isobel's story; an Arts student on break, on a road-trip with a group of friends. Friends who'd crashed early leaving poor little Isobel to find some fun on her own. Dana would pity her except that Isobel doesn't look broken up about it.

They have nothing in common beyond gender and hair colour, and quite frankly that's all she needs.

* * *

She's seeing double.

Well not quite. Nearly.

Sam's disappeared, but she hasn't tried to keep track of him. She's not his babysitter, and if he wants to fuck around with devil-spawn, well, she can't say that she didn't warn him.

She's got her own problems now.

Denial's at the top of her list.

A deep and unwavering desire to piss of destiny comes a close second.

* * *

They're about to leave; Dana has the keys to a room upstairs in her jacket pocket.

Isobel leads.

Dana knows he's behind her before she turns to look for him. It's disturbing how she can pick up his presence now. An unwelcome feeling settles in the pit of her stomach, spreading slowly throughout her body.

He doesn't look happy.

Just once she wants to see him smile.

Tonight wouldn't be that night.

In his trench coat and tie he stands out amongst the patrons of the bar, but they barely notice him, and she wonders for the first time if he does that on purpose. He looks the same as ever, hair unkempt, blue eyes serious and brooding, and God is a cruel bastard for sending her a guardian who looked like that.

He looked like he could see right through her.

He probably could.

"Don't even start," she warns him. It'd be more of a threat if her words hadn't started to slur.

* * *

In her mind she can see the faces of the children, dead eyes open and staring.

Unseeing.

* * *

He glares back at her. It'd almost be a game between them now, except neither of them are having fun. "You're putting yourself at unnecessary risk."

"Yeah, but it's a risk I'm willing to take." Fuck, she _needed_ the risk, and the release that came with it. Goddamnit, her baby brother could sleep with a goddamn demon, but when she wanted to have meaningful, mind-numbing sex with another human being it was a problem.

She takes hold of his tie, stepping into him. There was no such thing as personal space between them.

What she'd have given to see the look on Uriel's face at the two of them.

Her eyes never left his. Defiance came easily when she was drunk and pissed off; it was easier than breathing.

"Unless you want to take her place," she murmured, running her fingers up and down the silk tie. She couldn't even believe the words that spilled from her mouth. She was propositioning an angel, for fuck's sake. What the hell was wrong with her?

She didn't need any more sins on her list.

* * *

The angels had given them the tip.

There was a witch wreaking havoc. Go. Stop.

Orders from on High.

Dana hated that she could be told what to do so easily. It drove her crazy, and Sam had eventually told her to shut up and just drive.

She loved her brother.

But he just didn't get it.

* * *

She could have sworn that Castiel's breath hitched.

Maybe.

Maybe she was imagining it.

She was still playing with his tie before she realised it and let it slip from her fingers.

"Didn't think so," she answered for him, stepping back.

She hated that she was so weak she had to plead with him. "I _need_ this, Cas," she told him, voice low. "I need it and I need you to stay out of my fucking way. Ding dong, the witch is dead. I did my part. Now I want a dreamless sleep."

She pushed past him. "So screw you."

* * *

By the time they reached the town, four children had died.

Acceptable casualties, Uriel had pointed out.

Dana had never wanted to kill anyone more in her life. "Acceptable? How the fuck did you reach the rank of angel?"

* * *

Isobel was waiting for her, and they were barely inside the door to the room before Dana pushed her up against the wall. Trapped between Dana and the wall, Isobel moans, and it's enough to drive her crazy.

She can't get rid of clothing quick enough, her senses dulled enough that she struggles with buckles and buttons.

Isobel isn't much help; Dana holds her liquor better than most girls.

* * *

They find the witch.

She's nothing like the stereotype, but nothing surprises Dana anymore.

Rage motivates her, despite Sam's warnings.

There are dead children in the witch's living room.

There are screaming children in the basement.

* * *

Dana's hands are moving everywhere; she needed to feel something.

Isobel's hands are more direct, and Dana moaned when she felt one finger, then two, enter her. She dug her nails into the flesh of the girl's shoulder.

She didn't even notice that she drew blood.

* * *

It's all a bloody mess.

Witches always were a pain in the ass to kill, and this one in particular went down fighting to the end. God, Dana hated magic and sorcery, and when it was all said and done she would was happy to stand over the woman's body and burn it.

Sam called the cops as soon as they were safely in the Impala.

Dana tried not to look at the blood on her hands.

* * *

Once, when she's gasping Isobel's name she thinks she sees Castiel standing by the window.

A wave of pleasure rolls over her and she closes her eyes.

When she opens them again he's gone.

* * *

When sunlight hits her face through the open blinds, Dana realises that she's alone.

Rubbing her eyes groggily she doesn't bother to call out for Isobel.

For once she didn't do the leaving, and there's something strangely comforting in that.

She's naked beneath nothing but sheets, and she loses that the moment she rolls off the bed in desperate need of a shower. The familiar tingling feeling that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up comes over her and she knows she's standing naked before an angel.

Literally, not just metaphorically, although she had to face it, they'd covered that territory, too.

It doesn't surprise her that Castiel's eyes never leave her face.

Maybe he really didn't give a shit that she was standing there in nothing but her own skin, but the stare was creepy and she pulled at the sheet until it came free from the bed and she could wrap it around herself.

He made her feel like she was a child who threw temper tantrums to get attention.

Maybe she did.

"Are you happy?" he asks. She's pretty sure it has less to do with her well-being and more to do with his curiousity of the human condition.

She shifts her weight to her left leg, adjusting the sheet. "Yeah," she replies, meaning it, too. "Yeah, I'm happy."

She blinks and he's right in front of her, inches away, his blue eyes searching for something behind her own. She can't think of what he's searching for.

She's not sure she wants to know.

He traces the line of her jaw with one finger, and she unconsciously leans into the touch.

He keeps watching her, the lines around his eyes creasing as his uncertainty increases.

She steps in, closing the gap, and it's all she can do to not kiss him, one hand holding the sheet in place and the other over his heart.

Or where his heart should be.

She breathes him in.

Instead of disappearing, Castiel steps back, confusion lining his face. He looks lost, and wounded and she hates that she's done that to him. "I have to go," he tells her, and there's only the slightest indication of desperation in his voice.

He's gone before she can reply.

"No," she whispers. "You don't."


End file.
